It was a long streetcar ride back into town. It gave me a chance to
sober up and think about the events of the past days. I opened the envelope
the mysterious stranger had given me. A fat handful of $20s and $50s, a
plane ticket to San Antonio, and a map. I sighed and rubbed my now aching
again head. Had I but known, when Matt Burns knocked on my door....

I was back in my office, packing up a suitcase and sipping the
dregs of my last bottle when I heard footsteps. Real, solid shoes this
time, and no knock on the door, just an unforgiving hand turning the knob
and pushing the door open wide. Cops.

"You boys got a warrant?"

"You goin' somewhere, sister?"

"Just taking a little vacation. There a law against that?"

They exchanged glances and one of them shrugged and leaned into the
door jamb. His partner sat on my desk and tried to read my calendar upside
down. "What do you know about a riot out at CGS at the beach tonight?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Girl got hurt. Mentioned your name. Lieutenant wants you to come
down to the Hall of Justice with us."

"O.K. if I bring my suitcase so I can leave from there?"

"Sure. You might need it in the womens holding cell."

Everybody's a comedian these days. We rode down to the Hall, but
instead of going up to the cop shop we started heading down to the
Basement.

"What's up, boys?"

"The girl died en route to the hospital. Lieutenant wants to know
if you can I.D. her for us."

The room was cold. Everything in it was white. It even looked cold.
The beer, whisky and sushi started recreating the Battle of Bunker Hill in
my gut. All I could see was the little mound under the white sheet. They
lifted the sheet. A sad, thin, familiar face. New bruises along the
forearms as well as the knees. "Her name's Uke. I don't know if its her first or last name. Just
met her once, by chance; we chatted a minute."

"That fits with what we know." A woman's voice echoed off the white
tile. I turned. Son of a gun. The M.E. was a woman, a Dr. Gunther if the
name on her apron was really hers. She was holding a power tool
confidently; her smile would have cut bone and under the bloodied white
apron I could make out the now all-too-familiar ill-fitting white suit.
What the hell was going on here?

I grabbed my suitcase and ran for it; the cops were in hot pursuit but I
beat them out to Bryant Street and grabbed a cab for the airport.